My Lover, My Killer
by that is secret
Summary: Dark fic, character death. D/H, rating for language.


A/N: Dark, angsty, death. D/H, and some OOC-ness, I'd say. Apologies.  
  
  
  
I love you.  
  
I hate you.  
  
I knew this would happen; knew from the day we first met that one of us would kill the other.  
  
I just didn't imagine it would be so bloody painful. I can't help the memories from flooding back. Our fights. Our hate. The slow cooling-down of the feud. . . and the warming-up of something else.  
  
Our love.  
  
It's all your fault. You kissed me first, after all. You were the one who jumped me in the trophy room during detention. I'd been pleased that we had managed to be civil lately. It felt good to not hate you. Maybe I sent off some sort of signal, or something, but you were like a lion stalking its prey. And I was your prey.  
  
And you got me. You got me good, lover. I melted, like the wicked witch in that Muggle book. I would've done anything for you. I would have even switched my allegiance - gone against everything I'd ever been taught, everything important to me, for you. I would have followed you to the ends of the earth and beyond. You were all I wanted and needed.  
  
And all the time, I was your plaything. Your toy. You were leading me on. . . trying to get underneath my skin. Trying to make me less dangerous to you. You didn't want me to fight you, you didn't want any of my power against you. You just wanted me out of the way. Gone.  
  
You sure as hell didn't want me. Bastard. I really do hate you, with more passion than I ever did before. Because, I've know now what it's like to love you. I know what it's like to watch you sleep in my arms, mumbling about Potions or some other idiotic thing, and to kiss you, and to touch your skin, and to drown in you. I know what that's like, and I hate you for it.  
  
You gave me it, a taste of you. A sweet, wonderful taste of you, and then you took it away. You just left, abandoned me, deserted me. You treated me like everyone else has treated me: as a pawn. Just another player on the chessboard.  
  
You're cunning. So cunning. And here at the end, it doesn't surprise me that you devise a cunning way to kill me. Nice job, the Expelliarmus charm to disarm me, like in second-year dueling club. . . and then the good old Muggle way of a knife in the heart. Expedient, doesn't use too much energy.  
  
After all, why waste your energy and time in killing me? You've more important things to do.  
  
I can feel the blood in the back of my throat, it's warm and I choke on it. Collapsed on the floor, I try to concentrate on you. You hide in your cloak, like you're trying to hide from me. Then you lean over, and look into my eyes.  
  
You've still got beautiful eyes. If I had the strength, I would cry for their beauty. But, all I can do is shut mine and wish I could squeeze out the tears.  
  
I'm not sure if the sensation of a hand on my face is real, or if I'm imagining things as I die. My eyes open, and sure enough, your hand is on my cheek.  
  
"End it," I plead, managing to spit blood on you as I whisper. "In the name - of anything - we ever had. . ."  
  
You lean over farther. Your nose isn't even an inch from mine. It's hard to focus on your face when it's this close. In fact, it's getting hard to focus at all, not to mention trying to get air into my lungs.  
  
"I did love you, you know," you say. "I didn't show it well - and I was afraid - and we both knew it would come to this anyways."  
  
I nod. It's not like I believe you anyways. You never loved me at all.  
  
It's as if you can sense what I'm thinking, and you shrug your shoulders and say, "I had to." Your lips brush mine, and mixed with the blood I can taste you again.  
  
You pull the knife out of my chest; the pain, oh, it hurts. . . the air rushes in and burns. Oh bloody hell, there's air in there now. . . Could you just end it?  
  
You hold it to my throat, and. . . did I see it? A tear fall out of your eye? Yes, I did. You're crying. Crying for me, maybe, or for yourself, or for what? Crying because you're about to kill someone you love? Or are you ashamed that you let me touch you? Why? Why the tears now?  
  
The metal presses against my throat, and I try to lean into it. Your body snaps forward, and your head falls onto my chest, your hair dipping into the red liquid pooling on my robes. You sit back up and look into my eyes again. Is it pain I see there, or glee?  
  
Why couldn't you ever be simple to read, instead of this complex puzzle that will never be sorted out?  
  
As you pull the knife through my throat, and I start to lose consciousness, I think I hear it. Hear your voice. Or maybe we all hear voices when we die. I should have spoken with the ghosts at Hogwarts more.  
  
But I think I hear you say, "I love you, Draco Malfoy."  
  
I'm not sure. But I'll be back to haunt you.  
  
Slytherins are cunning too.  
  
  
  
A/N: A one-shot with an unexpected cliffhanger ending. . . sorry. But I had to. ^_~ 


End file.
